March On
by KibaHinaLUV
Summary: An indefinite warning: Do not turn back. Do not ignore the war. Do not think of giving up. Prepare to sacrifice your life, to throw your body into turmoil. For, dare I say it, if you see the writing on the wall, you are facing imminent doom. Gulp down your fear and march your soul into the flames of madness. (OCs and attempts at motivation)


**A/N: WHOOPS MY HAND SLIPPED. *angst and dramatic backstories of OCs comes your way* in honor of the end of soul eater, I decided to start a fanfiction about a team of newbies. (And you might as well get some SoMa in some of the chapters because I feel like it.) SO ANYWAYS THIS IS A LATE BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS. I hope you all like it~ (*sobs because I wish it turned out better*)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Soul Eater_ because if I did SoMa would be extremely canon.**

**_March On._ Prologue.**

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Somewhere, somehow, someone is experiencing pain. Maybe even worse than _yours_. Everyone has their own hurdle to jump over, and some are higher than others. Just remember that with someone truthful by your side, you can overcome obstacles no matter what comes your way. So march on, dear phoenix. March on.

The good witch is rare, simple and beautiful. She most definitely is not normal. The woman had given birth, just a few days ago. The pain of childbirth hung on her shoulders and the bags on her eyes. Slowly but surely, she set down a freshly woven basket onto her flying broom. Her daughter was wrapped smugly into a yellow swaddling cloth, keeping her protected from the cold, icy air. This good witch cared for the creation of life. When her fellow co-workers demanded she get rid of the useless "lump of fat", she had clearly hesitated. But she knew she had to give up her daughter. She wouldn't dare kill it like she had been told. The witch flew on her broom, freely soaring throughout the purple night. The moon was still smiling deviously, stalking Death City. Yet its eyes seemed to follow the good witch, all the way to the cemetery. A mysterious, fearful atmosphere arose from the graves. Decomposing bodies have never been so frightful. The good witch shivered, cold in her black and yellow outfit. She took one last regretful look at her baby, the one she would never see grow up to be a successful woman. A tear slowly made its way along the curvy surface of her face, dripping all the way down to the baby's small and precious hand. "You be good now. Mommy loves you." Those words caused the baby to cry, sensing danger. Did the defenseless child know it was being left to die alone? The witch set down her daughter's basket on the ground, in front of a gravestone that read the following: Her name is Aria Tetsuya.

Four years later, the girl who was abandoned is still alive. Just by chance, her crying had awoken a near-by household. This specific household, though, held a young man named Spirit. Being associated with the DWMA, Death Weapons and Meister Academy, he called up the one who he knew as Shinigami-sama. This death lord, kind as can be, took her in out of pity and out of the fact that her case was indeed a strange one. Like the laughing moon, he had watched over Death City, and knew of the good witch's secret. Aria Tetsuya's predicament remained in only the death lord's knowledge, even when his closest workers asked where she had come from. The abandoned girl lived as the dark shadow of the Shinigami's true son, who was known as Death the Kid. Therefore, no one knew of the amount of potential that was trapped in her veins.

But somewhere else at this time, there is a girl her age, struggling to find hope. She sits on the staircase in front of her home's entrance, waiting for her father. Her mother quietly notices how persistent her daughter is. Last night, the girl's parents had a fight. Yelling, screaming, crashes of glass, and total catastrophe erupted. It hurt the little girl's brain. Her parents were angry with each other, and she cried. She didn't want her parents to be mad. And yet, as she cried, she could still hear the door slamming behind her gross sobs. Her father had left them. But the mother now, shook her head. She didn't understand why children couldn't stop asking for the impossible. She felt pity for her daughter, who loved her playtime with her papa. He'd read her stories and feed her treats; he was a spoiler, indeed. But he was done with that... He was done with them. The mother felt sorry for the girl and tried to get the sore truth into her daughter's head. She walked over to her, picked her up, and held her close. Her daughter asked a question. "When's papa coming back?"

"Oh, sweetie... Please understand. Pippa, your father isn't coming home any time soon."

"Why?"

Why? Why is a question many will ask. Why not? Why me? Why now? The question is why. Always why. Pippa Scarlet, if only she knew... That wasn't the only time she was going to ask why. Exactly two years later, her mother broke. Like a cell, she broke down. She became verbally abusive and hurtful towards Pippa. Why? That is exactly the question she asks.

Then, at that exact moment, across the country, a girl asks the same question. Why? But this girl's question varies. Her following question goes as said: Why her and not me? Sometimes we pity ourselves, but sometimes we want to be sacrificed for the sake of others.

This girl regrets her decisions and resents herself. Sick of being controlled and restricted, this girl ran away from her family. But as the older sister at the age of 7, it was foolish. Beyond stupidity. Her younger sister, only 6, ran away with her. She followed her until she acknowledged the fact that it was a bad idea to run. They walked over grass, over sidewalks, over road pavement... But it was too late. Only thirty minutes into their runaway, hungry and wet from rain... They ran into a sticky situation. The younger one could not keep up with the older one on the roads. This would lead to the inevitable fact that they were careless little girls, with much to learn. Though, from that day forward, only one had much to learn. Why? Why is what you ask, too. Maybe a hit-and-run would finally convince Tsukiko Aida to be responsible and protective of her loved ones. The younger one was hit by a car, forceful and deadly. In addition, the driver was uncaring and heartless. They ran over the girl in the dark night, not knowing what they had just murdered. They killed a good, innocent spirit full of hope and smiles. Now it was gone, only a small bit of life left in her. Blood was splattered on the concrete, staining black with red. Horrid screams pierced the night sky, and the moon drooled crimson molten blood. The mother and father had finally caught up to their daughters, scared to death as to what might happen to them. For the family, the worst possible thing happened. The girl that was guilty of starting the problem ran towards her sister in the street and pulled her onto the sidewalk, caressing her hair and telling her to stay awake. But her efforts were useless against death and pain. Her parents ran over to her, blaming her for the sister's dying state. Before she was punished, the little sister spoke up. "Tsukiko, Mommy, Daddy? Am I going to be o-okay...?"

But the small child was gone without saying a good-bye or an "I love you". Only a corpse was left in her place, her soul squeezed out of her. The rain gently and gracefully wiped off the dirt from her face and revealed an innocent expression of calmness that no one but a child could understand.

Tragedy hit Tsukiko fast and hard, all of it accumulating in one single night. Emotionally, her family's journey has just begun. For others, tragedy hits in different ways at different paces. There was a boy in the same city the night her sister had died. He was just a few blocks away, sitting at the kitchen table in his home. The difference between the families were drastic. The boy had no sister and no brother, just a father and a mother. Where were these parents at a time like this? The dinner table was set for three, but only one sat: the eight-year-old child. His mouth was often curved into a frown, only opening for food and greeting his parents - who were hardly ever home. He was left with a babysitter at most times, but today they were taking a break. Where did that leave the son? He made his own meals, waiting, waiting, and anticipating for the moment his parents walk through the door to hug him. They'll welcome him with open arms and tell him that he is the best son in the world. It's too bad that'll never happen. They don't have time for anannoying brat like him. He was only a burden, a heavy sack of coal to them. Nothing was going to change that. No matter how much he wished he wasn't, Pike Waltz always knew he would be their little boy; it was his responsibility to love them.

Some kids get told that they're useless and insignificant, that they should just disappear. Yes, Pike Waltz was one of those children. He wished he had been one of those spoiled and pampered "little angels" instead of being a disappointing offspring. Although, that life isn't as perfect either. Perfect is the key word. A few years later, when Pike is 11 and grocery shopping for the family, he passes by a girl the same age with that lifestyle. Unknown to each other, they wished they were another. One wanted to be pampered, the other left alone.

Though the words "left alone" didn't express how much she needed the presence of a caring person. The one that wanted to be "left alone" always _felt_ alone. Why would she wish to be left lonely again and again? Maybe it's the fact that she's never left alone.

Yes, this girl in particular had a fickle heart. Lonely or not lonely, Rikki Oswin most definitely wasn't perfect. She was reminded every day and every night by the same people that caused such a mind to be that way. Her empty, selfish and rich parents only accepted her if she were the best of the best. Only if she was perfect in every way would she be left alone. Lectured and yelled at, told to do better than everyone. Even herself. Every moment, every award she receives, every loss she takes, Ms. Oswin is told that she is an imbecile incapable of doing anything right. The girl has to push herself until her name is mentioned in every book, every article, every movie, and every newscast. No one stood by her side. No one supported her with uplifting words. No one bothered to comfort her when she cried. No one; and yet loneliness was her only hope. It was her cross to bear.

So she became the one to raise people up in their lowest moments. She tried to help anyone she could so they were not alone. Ms. Oswin did not want anyone to feel empty. One day, she heard of the DWMA. Students there strived to do what they thought was right. They did what their hearts told them, and did not look back. They helped Death City and protected the world. The girl, in two years, would enroll herself without her parents' consent.

Little did she know that a boy she would help survive was also being called a useless dimwit who couldn't do any good. She wasn't the only one being yelled at daily. Only, this boy's parents weren't rich, nor were they selfish. They wanted the best for him, truly, but couldn't express that. Tainted with a bi-polar disorder, his father would often throw him against the wall or smash wine bottles onto his body, scarring him physically and emotionally. He was told he was clumsy, stupid, and that no one would ever tolerate him. He would not survive in the world. His mother, though for the most part caring, did not want to deal with either of the men in the family. So, she was always away on "business trips" in order to get away from her unstable husband and useless son. Mitsuhara Koga could barely stand on his feet when he met Rikki Oswin, for he was in crutches from being tripped down the stairs.

Embarrassed and frightened with what his father might do to him, he put up the facade that he was a clumsy little boy. He made a joke of himself. He tried to hide the truth from a girl who could help him with his problem. Financially, she could have his father well treated. Emotionally, he could comfort him through thick and thin. They were so much more alike than he thought. But the mask he wore was glued in place.

Relating to facades, some people wish they had the ability to lie. Some wish they could cover up the truth with words and faces. Some wished they could be brave enough, strong enough to handle the guilt. One of those boys, Mizuumi Kaito, always told what he honestly thought and what he honestly did. Lies would never find their way past his lips and into the open. False words would remain in his head as his thoughts spilled out. It was almost as if his brain were reversed. His harsh and loud words were quite hypocritical. He could not do anything for himself. He was good at what he enjoyed, but he was never good enough to be recognized. He would be invisible if it weren't for his words of truth. Those words of truth were senseless though and without morality. They would be crude and thoughtless at times. They were incredibly harmful to other's egos.

When the moment came, when Mizuumi finally crossed the line at the age of 12, he was taken down to the ground. A stronger group of boys who were fed up with him took initiative. They tried to shut him up with brute strength and rage. Obviously violence and madness was taking over faster than people thought. What they did to him seemed highly unrealistic and not of this world. Though they had popped his jaw out of place, they broke his leg severely and shattered his heart. Even with a replacement good enough for his leg, his heart could not be repaired. He now hopped on a prosthetic piece of plastic, his heart being dragged along by a rope.

And as they gained their victory, Mizuumi learned a powerful lesson. He shut himself in and taught himself how to be quiet. His face became emotionless, his mouth became a static line of apathy. His eyes remained focused and intent on one thing: silence. His eyes became empty, cold, and most importantly... dark. His brother and his family tried to talk to him. They tried to comfort him. Yet, the boy did not talk. Only his eyes of coal did the talking. He was okay. He was fine. He was just going to deal with his life the way he felt like. He had no more motive, no more reason to survive. He might as well let the waves of hidden emotion carry him. His confined thoughts mangled his brain and made their way into the back of his mind. He had so much to say, so much to express, but that would not be able to happen. He spent such a long time adapting to silence, adjusting to a blue and closed-in lake, that his mouth would not dare open. For himself and his own personal creed, his mouth did not twitch. He would not be released from his cage anytime soon. He truly became invisible.

In this day and age, there is always a group of students who will be glorified for their exclusive talents. That big seven includes Maka Albarn, Soul Eater Evans, Death the Kidd, Liz and Patty Thompson, Black*Star, and Tsubaki Nakatsukasa. There is a shadow behind these strong and fearsome lights. But these seven mentioned are not that shadow. They were the shadow of the shadow. It's dark and black, and sometimes never noticeable. There is a less noticed group of students who each struggle with their own burdensome hurdles: the past.

Aria Tetsuya, Pippa Scarlet, Tsukiko Aida, Pike Waltz, Rikki Oswin, Mitsuhara Koga, and Mizuumi Kaito made up the invisible team of 7 that were not recognized for their talent at all. They each had a hurdle to overcome before they became worthy. Each had a question that had to be answered first. They were all variations of one word. Why? Why did they all have to suffer through life? Why did they let the suffering control them? Just who were they living for?


End file.
